Classic Poem

What is the cause, why States, that war and win,
Haue honour, and breed men of better fame,
Than States in peace, since war and conquest sin
In blood, wrong liberty, all trades of shame?
Force-framing instruments, which it must vse,
Proud in excesse, and glory to abuse.

The reason is; Peace is a quiet Nurse
Of Idlenesse , and Idlenesse the field,
Where wit and Power change all seedes to the worse,
By narrow self-will upon which they build,
And thence bring forth captiu'd inconstant ends,
Neither to Princes, nor to People friends.

Besides, the sinnes of Peace on Subiects feed,
And thence wound power, which for it all things can,
With wrong to one despaires in many breed,
For while Lawes' oathes, Powers creditors to man,
Make humble Subiects dreame of natiue right,
Mans faith abus'd addes courage to despite.

Where conquest workes by strength, and stirs up Fame,
A glorious Echo , pleasing doome of paine,
Which in the sleepe of death yet keepes a name,
And makes detracting losse speake ill in vaine.

For to Great Actions time so friendly is,
As o'er the meanes (albeit the meanes be ill)
It casts forgetfulnesse; vailes things amisse,
With power and honour to encourage will.

Besides things hard a reputation beare,
To dye resolu'd though guilty wonder breeds,
Yet what strength those be which can blot out feare,
And to selfe-ruine ioyfully proceeds,
Aske them that from the ashes of this fire,
With new liues still to such new flames aspire.